


Turn On the Steam

by Stucky1980, TheRothwoman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, But Consensual Everything Else, Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Naked Cuddling, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Outdoor Sex, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980/pseuds/Stucky1980, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman
Summary: Five times Steve and Bucky came for each other in the shower, and one time they came clean. A saga of showers, scents, feelings, bad puns, and getting dirty while getting wet.





	Turn On the Steam

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for a Bang! With the art in the claims post, stucky1980 mentioned showers a couple times, so I wound up taking that keyword and running with it. Big thanks as always to miss-slothrop for beta-ing, to my wonderful artist stucky1980/lisamott9 for her lovely pencilcraft, and to the mods at the Captain America Reverse Big Bang for all their hard work on another great year of fic and art!

**1)**

The showerhead on their bathtub in Brooklyn tended to be a crapshoot. Bucky had tried fixing it twice before giving up, so they’d just used the regular faucet for years. The army’s communal showers were definitely a step up, especially since they had more reliable _hot_ water, but they also tended to be on the crowded side. Especially since there was always a handful of Those Guys who were there just to check out Science’s Great Body of Work (ie. Steve, and his Body). Someday, _someday_ they would achieve that ideal overlap of private/hot/shower. But this evening, out in the dense forest and about half a mile away from the camp, they would have to deal with just Private and Shower; Hotness (of water) was up for debate. Whatever temperature boost it had received from the heat of the day was rapidly waning as night set in.

“Y’know, Buck, when you said you’d found a ‘little oasis’, this wasn’t exactly what I was picturing.”

“What, did you seriously think I’d found some epic cascading wonder with moonlight dancing off of it while birds serenade us from soft emerald treetops?”

“Did I think you’d found a chunk of landscape from a Tarzan book come to life? No, not really, but I guess I was at _least_ expecting…more of a pond than a puddle.” The small waterfall was only a few feet higher than Steve, gushing gently onto a bed of rocks and moss and pooling into a little stream that snaked off into the dark underbrush. “It’s nice, though. It’s got its own kind of charm.”

“Good, I knew you’d love it.” Bucky was already stripping down to his underclothes, putting his blue coat on a nearby rock and piling everything else just next to it. Steve followed suit, not wanting to act like he was in a hurry, but still keeping an eye on the sky above to make sure they’d have enough light to make it back in good time. They wouldn’t really have time to completely relax and be languid under the water, but it would certainly be a welcome break. Bucky went to lay his coat down on the mossy pool (“It needs a wash. Besides, we don’t want to slip and die naked with cracked skulls. What would Peg ‘n Howard think?”) and stepped under the makeshift “shower.”

“Initial report, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Temperature admittedly not optimal,” Bucky “reported” back as he started splashing water on the rest of his arms, “but mercifully above Really Fucking Cold. Requesting thermal backup.”

Steve scoffed affectionately as he tossed the last of his clothes into the pile near Bucky’s. “I’m sure you do. Backup incoming.” The day had hardly been hot, but the feeling of cool water on skin that had spent hours and hours on end under wraps was a most welcome one. The waterfall wasn’t quite wide enough to accommodate both of them at the same time, even when they were fully pressed skin-to-skin, but they made do regardless. Bucky leaned back into Steve, grinding encouragingly against the cock that had started poking at him.

“Backup received,” he purred, reaching his hands back to get a handle on Steve’s hips as the good captain responded in turn. Steve pressed several wet kisses to the nape of Bucky’s neck as he reached forward to begin teasingly massaging his lower curls—not _quite_ his dick, but certainly dick-adjacent enough that it sent a good round of shivers through Bucky’s body. “Ooo, and he can do more than just cover my six.”

Steve snorted. “Alright, that’s enough bad puns for one night,” he said, tracing the tips of his fingers around the base of Bucky’s cock.

“Aw, come on Stevie,” Bucky groaned, leaning his head back plaintively. “Just one more? Please? For me?”

“Okay fine, _one_ more,” Steve grinned into Bucky’s hair before giving his length a good firm squeeze. “So choose wisely.”

In that moment, Bucky was particularly glad that one of his key qualifications that made him a military sniper was being blessed with the gift of patience, to a degree. Because it took a considerable amount of self-restraint to not _immediately_ respond—almost reflexively—with, “roger that, Rogers.”

Water was no lubricant, but the men were happy all the same to just stick to some good old-fashioned rutting. Another thing Bucky restrained himself from saying was some comment to the effect of, _y’know Steve, in a perfect world it’d just be your dick over here with me in the war. Then the rest of you would be back home. Safe._ But he didn’t say it. Partly because it was much nicer to get lost in the sensation of Steve pressing against him, breathing deeply into his neck while thumbing the precome around his slit; partly because he didn’t want Steve to think that his dick was the only part of him he wanted—the only part of him that mattered to Bucky, or for Steve to think that Bucky wanted any of him to be far away; partly because he’d given up a long time ago on openly wishing Steve would stay out of the war. Bucky let the moment seep into his skin, willing everything else to fall away—tricky as that was when he and Steve were not luxuriating in a spa or even a warm bed, but were standing awkwardly on Bucky’s coat over some mossy rocks and bathing in forest drizzle. Instead he took in the unique senses that other traditional settings didn’t provide: the fresh fragrance of the trees, the occasional innocent chirp of local fauna, a light breeze gently rustling the leaves high above.

A smooth but sturdy rock to grab onto with a free hand as orgasm pulsed through him.

As Bucky regained control of his legs, he maneuvered around to face Steve properly and took his lips in his. Bucky dipped his un-rock-ed hand to Steve’s undercarriage to give him one more encouraging squeeze, to which he responded with a welcome hard quiver of pleasure and a heated gasp right into Bucky’s mouth, breaking their lips apart.

“Oh look,” Bucky smirked as he raised his hand to his face to show off the stickier fluid that now adorned it. “My backup came.”

Steve held up his own hand and flicked some water from the waterfall to splash Bucky right between the eyes.

**2)**

The first time the Winter Soldier was allowed to bathe himself on his own was also the last. Not that he was never cleaned again—especially since a mission of any length under all that tactical gear was sweaty work—but all subsequent washings were either directly supervised or, if major injuries needed to be worked around, carried out by some particular self-assured Hydra agents. It was more or less an experiment the first time anyway. Letting the Winter Soldier have agency about anything outside of field work seemed like a risky venture, possibly even a slippery slope if they weren’t careful, but some degree of self-sufficiency for even the most tightly controlled agents could ultimately prove advantageous in the long run, in case of emergency.

But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t take the extra step of installing a security camera in the shower, just to be safe.

* * *

 

The Winter Soldier had already been helped out of his tactical gear and, upon being completely stripped bare, was led to a shower stall.

“You will be retrieved in ten minutes,” grunted the agent as he handed the Winter Soldier a bar of soap and yanked the water on. “Good luck getting all the cracks!” He gave a brief snorty laugh as he left the Winter Soldier to his own devices, swinging the door shut on his way out.

The Winter Soldier was not used to physical sensations beyond the material on the inside of his tactical gear, the sharp rush of cold at the start of cryo, and the lingering twitching tingles in his brain after having his head clamped. The feeling of water on his skin was faintly familiar, though. He’d had at least one or two cleanings before, and one of his missions had happened in the rain. This soap smelled inviting, though. He couldn’t place a particular fragrance, but something about holding it in his hand and up to his nose, combined with the small torrent of hot water upon him, strongly evoked “clean” in his mind.

Clean was good. He was going to make himself clean.

He rubbed the soap all over himself, including his hair. There was the faintest twinge in the back of his mind that soap-meant-for-hair wasn’t in bar form and that he was doing something wrong. But he ultimately ignored it. Clean felt…nice, and the Winter Soldier wasn’t currently of a mind to debate its proper procedure. Having sufficiently slathered himself with suds, he put the soap down and stepped fully under the showerhead to rinse himself. The water had been set to a high temperature at the start, and the steam had been surprisingly pleasant at first, but now it was feeling too hot again and the Winter Soldier reached over to the knob to turn it down. As he did so, the water pressure began to ease off as well. He found himself turning it to a lower setting than he’d originally planned and something about this level of cascading water felt…right? Familiar? Again, he couldn’t quite place it, but there was a stronger sensation tugging at the back of his mind this time with thoughts of “this happened Before and it was Good.”

But there was something else missing. Or…some _one_? Again, the feelings and memories of feelings were too abstract to get a proper grip on. There was Water. And the Water made Cool. And more Body. And the Body made Warm. Body made Warm…especially _down there_. He wanted that Body Warmth again, but there was no one else under the Water with him. So he would have to do it himself. His lonely dick was not responding terribly well to the less-warm water. He reached down and began tending to it with his flesh hand. Something else in the Winter Soldier’s brain locked into place and suddenly the feeling of “This is Right” surged through his thoughts. He was compelled to keep going, to keep doing this to himself—to keep _giving this_ to himself—to bring back the Body Warmth under the Water, keep stroking, keep stroking, This is Right, This is Warm, This is what your Body did under the Water…once…before…

The Winter Soldier’s long-neglected length finally gave its load, and as it dripped to the floor and towards the drain, he felt filled with the Best Warmth.

* * *

 

The two Hydra agents at the security monitor weren’t sure whether to be puzzled or impressed.

“Christ, I was just kidding about ‘getting all the cracks’,” said the one who had given the Winter Soldier his shower prep.

“No, I think this goes above and beyond,” said his partner. “Urethras aren’t really ‘cracks’…oh _shit_.”

The monitor was showing that, in the throes of orgasm, the Winter Soldier had become rather unbalanced. Stumbling forward, left leg slipping out from under him, left arm jutting forward to grab the wall to catch himself, metal hand gouging a chunk out of the wall, taking some piping with it and causing a rogue spout to start spraying icy cold water straight into the Winter Soldier’s face. A piercing cry of shock came out of the speaker.

“Quick, get him out of there,” barked the second agent. “I’ll ring maintenance and tell ‘em we’ve got a leak. And it looks like the Asset needs another mind-wipe.”  


**3)**

Steve Rogers was really starting to wish there was some other event in his life besides “fight the incoming evil horde” that would make for good team-building experience. First Nazis, then aliens, then killer robots. It had been a few months since the Ultron debacle and Steve had had ample time to settle into his role as leader of the Avengers’ new lineup. And ample time to turn his mind back to whatever had happened to Bucky after D.C.

As he started up his shower that night, turning the temperature knob past the necessary initial gush of cold before the water heated up, he idly mused on his subconscious gratitude that no one had yet made a joke about “of course his trail’s gone cold, he’s the _Winter_ Soldier.” Maybe one day he might find that morbidly amusing, but for now it just gave him another pang of guilt and sadness.

Ideal water temperature successfully achieved, he stepped in and started lathering himself up. It was some handmade organic soap that Natasha had picked up at a farmers market, with some odd comment like, “you seem like a tree-fragrance kind of guy, Rogers.” The scent was a mix of cedar and pine, like some crafty artisan had managed to cram a whole square acre of forest into a small brick of cleanliness.

Steve was suddenly reminded of that one evening with Bucky and his little waterfall in the woods during the war. He hadn’t thought about that day in a while, although it was certainly memorable for the uniqueness of its location, if nothing else. Having returned the soap to its dish, Steve found himself pausing under the steamy rush with the scrubber against his lower belly, the evocative fresh woodland scent wafting calmly from the suds on his body. He thought back to that waterfall, wishing there was some way he and Bucky could’ve had the exotic natural but still cozy experience they’d been envisioning while performing the more adventurous version.

Steve pictured the two of them on some sort of mossy water bed—moss bed surrounded by a stream?—something where they were supported by soft greenery but also cradled in flowing water. Back in each other’s arms properly, hands roaming, feeling, taking in the scents of both their lush surroundings and each other. He stood there in the shower and stroked himself languidly, eyes closed and managing a good mental sensory balance between the laid-back two-person forest mating pad of his fantasies, and the solo upright pine-soap-on-the-dick wistful wank of reality. Steve honestly felt himself indulging in this as a sensual experience more than a sexual one at first. But after a few minutes he realized that all the soap had rinsed away, and opted to reach over to the dish to reload his soapy hand and properly rub one out.

It was the most oddly…comforting orgasm he’d had in a very long time.

**4) One Time They Came Clean**

_Where are we going? The future._

Sweet Christ on a cracker, the future had some amazing showers. If Bucky was still processing all the chaos and fighting and running of the past few days from Bucharest and beyond, he might as well do it where the air was clean and fresh and the water was perfect. He’d also never encountered a shower with a wooden bench before, unless saunas counted. At the moment, he wasn’t so much “showering” as he was musing naked under the water. Bucky’s mind alternated from taking in the first environment he’d been in since god-knows-when that was specifically designed for relaxation and that he could use as long as he liked, and actively reminding himself _yes you are safe here, no you do not need to worry about being ambushed again._

Most importantly: _they can fix you here. They can make the world safe from you again._

“Buck?”

Bucky was jolted out of his reverie, but thankfully by a very familiar voice. _The_ most familiar voice. He turned around to look towards the entrance to the shower room. “Oh, hey Steve.”

“I’d started to wonder what happened to you,” said Steve. “You’ve been in here for about half an hour.”

“Huh.” Bucky looked at his fingers. “And somehow I’m still not pruning. I’ll have to remember that.”

Steve gave a faint smile and a nod towards the shower. “That good?”

Bucky smiled back. “Wanna come over and see for yourself?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Steve approached the bench, stopping for a moment to remove his pants and set them aside. He hadn’t gotten two more steps before Bucky chimed in with, “you can take the rest off, too. The water’s great.” They shared another look—a silent _you really sure? Yes, yes I am_ —before Steve took off the rest of his clothes and joined Bucky on the bench, letting the water beat against his back. Bucky noticed that Steve sat on his right side, the side with his flesh arm. Steve sighed, and they sat in silence for another few minutes.

“Steve,” Bucky said at last, “we should talk.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It’s…been a while. And there hasn’t really been time.”

“You were right, you know,” Bucky continued. “At the apartment. Of course I knew why I pulled you out of the river. I also knew I was gonna get stormed at any minute. Wasn’t the time for exposition.” He paused.

“I wish my timing had been better,” said Steve. “I should’ve found you long before that.”

“Maybe I should’ve stayed with you after I pulled you out,” said Bucky. “But I wasn’t ready. No one was really ready. I didn’t want to _be_ found yet. Once I saw that you were still breathing, all I could think was I’d done the right thing after all and now I needed to rush back into the shadows as fast as I could.”

“I would’ve helped you. I was already—”

“Steve, I was _scared!_ ” Bucky blurted out, perhaps more loudly than he’d intended. He caught his breath for a few seconds and continued. “I left you there because I was scared, and I stayed away because I was scared. Scared something in me might snap again and try to finish you off. Scared of what might happen if Hydra or SHIELD got to me next. Scared you’d turn me in. …Scared that _that_ was the end of the line.”

Bucky looked Steve right in the eyes again, and with his slightly furrowed brow he could see the ghost of _why the hell would you think that?_ on Steve’s parted lips. But then he closed his mouth and the ghost lifted. Steve knew, and Bucky knew he knew.

“I think it almost was,” Steve half-whispered, just barely audible over the running water. “There was…there was a part of me that was ready to drown in that river. Part of me that wondered if I’d done all I could. Not just for you, but for everything. And I was really starting to feel that maybe Captain America was more of an outdated relic than I’d already thought.”

“You’re not Captain America, though,” said Bucky, face more relaxed and not breaking eye contact. “You’re still Steve Rogers, last time I checked.” He couldn’t quite tell if the wetness around Steve’s eyes was from the shower water or not. Steve let out a soft noise like a chuckle that maybe wanted to be a sob instead.

“Huh,” he said, mouth taking a small uptick. “Yeah, it looks like it, doesn’t it. And come to think of it, you seem to be…James—Bucky Barnes—still here after all this time.”

Bucky didn’t even have it in him to shrug his shoulder stump and crack some joke about “well, most of me is still here, anyway.” Instead he tried swallowing the lump in his throat and nodding with Steve, wanting to say _thank you_ in a million different ways. But words were failing him again, so he smiled and went with the first one he thought of: “I guess so…yeah…I like that.” Bucky could feel their hands just barely brushing against each other on the bench. Wordlessly, without even looking down, they moved in just an inch and laced their fingers together, gripping each other tightly for the first time in decades not in the heat of battle when they _needed_ to, but because they _wanted_ to. Another minute passed and turned from just hand-holding to leaning against each other. Mutual support. Another unspoken message between them, this time of _can we just…stay here…like this…for a while? Yeah, of course we can…_

But then after a while…

“Hey Steve, I should tell you now: I was talking with the folks in the lab and…there’s something I need to do here first…before anything else…”

**5)**

Re-establishing proper connection with his senses after cryo had been a horrifically jarring experience for Bucky for decades. First there were his eyes taking in light again, always from harsh glares of large overhead halogen lamps. Then there were the temperature shifts that came from having his skin exposed to real air again, then quickly trying to remember how to move his limbs. Then the head clamp, with searing flashes of Everything driving directly into his brain. And then the Words. Restriction. Narrowing. Compelled focus. _Ready to comply._

Waking up from cryo in Wakanda had been the polar opposite of that in every conceivable way.

Shuri had explained later that there was a kind of “slow release” mechanism in their cryo pods, a way to prepare the brain in advance of reemergence to make it virtually identical to waking up from normal sleep. Bucky felt like he’d been purged. Wiped clean. And for the first time, it was the best thing in the world.

Almost.

The blight that had been wiped from his mind was the Hydra programming, not the remaining memories of what he had done under its control. But he wouldn’t ask that of anyone. His mind had been shattered and put back together too many times, and now that it was finally free of forced external influence, he was going to own himself again. All of it. Even the worst of his past. Because that was the _past_ now, and he was going to move forward. Or at least, as forward as he could. Recovery, as he learned, was not a straight line.

Everything else about the training room showers at the Avengers compound was great. Fully adjustable showerheads, nice fluffy towels, and about five different varieties of body scrubbers. Bucky had encountered automatic soap dispensers by now, but their occasional unpredictability meant that he was still kinda getting used to them. But that wasn’t it this time.

It was the smell. It wasn’t exactly the same, but there was some component of that soap that must’ve also been in…that one…from back then…smell…of soap…chemicals…Warm…then cold… _lots_ of Cold…right at him…pain…pain…head in pain…he did something wrong…he broke something and now there was Cold and Pain… _never let this happen again_ … _wipe him_ …

He had to get it off. Get it off his skin. Or something would break. Something would go wrong and he would be punished again.

“Bucky? Buck _wait, stop! Wake up!!_ ”

He was half-sprawled on the floor now, forgetting if there was a difference between the shower steam around him and the fog in his mind. But there was definitely something else there steadying him. Not a rock, _I’m inside_ , not a wall, _I didn’t break it_ , a person, _Oh no I did do something wrong, wait…wait, no, it’s Steve. He’s good, he’s warm, he’s safe._

“Buck, c’mon, it’s okay, I got you. Can you look at me?” Steve’s wet hands were holding him as he knelt down, one on Bucky’s flesh shoulder and the other cupping his face. “What happened?”

Bucky looked around at himself as he remembered how to breathe properly. Red welts covered his right forearm, flecked with the occasional drip of blood from where flesh and metal had met too violently. In his panic, he’d obviously forgotten that frantically rubbing something off his arms wasn’t really something he could safely do anymore. Steve was still half-soaped with his hair sticking out at a few odd angles, and under normal circumstances Bucky might’ve laughed a little at him popping in all disheveled and wet like this. For now, he just needed speech.

“…Hydra soap,” Bucky rasped.

“What?”

“Something in it…smelled like Hydra soap…” He saw Steve’s eyebrows immediately shoot up and quickly added, “no they’re not _here_! It just…something…reminded me…a long time ago. They gave me soap and I messed up and broke a pipe, and they got angry and put me in the clamp again…”

“Wait,” said Steve, “Is there some on me right now?”

“I think so…a little…”

“Hang on,” said Steve, giving Bucky’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Let me get it off me first, and then we’ll find something better to use, okay?”

“Yeah, good,” Bucky breathed, adjusting his legs as Steve got up to rinse himself off. Cautiously, Bucky got back up on his feet and padded over to the supply rack on the wall to grab a plastic shower stool. When he returned and seated himself, Steve had somehow already materialized a small shower caddy with about half a dozen different soaps. Bucky felt his nose quiver slightly in apprehension; he didn’t even know noses could _do_ that.

“Do you think you know what it might’ve been?” Steve asked. “The smell from the generic soap that set you off?”

Bucky shook his head. “It was just…chemical-y. That other soap…it was definitely for cleaning, it _smelled_ clean, but like…fake-clean. Something you would use to clean the _actual_ shower, not yourself _in_ one.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” Steve nodded and handed Bucky the soap-laden caddy. “Here, I brought these. They’re actual fragrances, so they should smell way better.” Bucky looked around thoughtfully at the soap bottles. The first one to draw his eye was a vibrant pink, which he opened and smelled. Watermelon. Tempting, but fruitier than he felt ready for. He put it back and picked up a blue bottle. Ocean Breeze. This was on the right track, but not quite there. And then his eyes fell on the dark green bottle. Woodlands. He opened it and the sharp burst of beautifully familiar pine nearly made him slide off the stool.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking the bottle a little in Steve’s direction. “This one. This is the one. It’s like from…”

“…that night.”

They both half expected to hear the chirping of distant birds, crossing the setting sun.

“That was a weird night.”

“But worth it,” Bucky added, finally managing a small smirk for a few moments before his face went sober again. “Hey, do you think you could…” he muttered, holding out the soap, “…for me? I just…want help to make sure I’ve gotten all the other stuff off.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve retrieved a fresh scrubber and loaded it with the soap, standing just behind Bucky so as to get the harder-to-reach-solo back and shoulders first. “Just say when.”

“Ready.” Bucky couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been cleaned by someone else. Or perhaps, he did, but would rather he didn’t. Also, he’d already had one Hydra flashback today and had no intention of inducing another one now. But there was still a vague sense of former harshness. Like with the old soap, as the Winter Soldier he’d been treated like an object to be cleaned instead of a person who needed a wash. Steve had just the right balance of gentleness and firmness, giving Bucky’s back a well-deserved massage while also taking care around his recently broken skin. Bucky assured Steve that he actually didn’t need to be as painstakingly cautious around the scarred border of his new arm. While he was scrubbed, Bucky closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to that night in the forest. There was a part of him that was trying to mentally “upgrade” that memory—replacing the mossy rocks with slip-proofed porcelain, the waterfall with a proper shower—before he stopped to realize how dumb that was. That night was memorable for its flaws, and the things they did do right could properly be joined with the technological advances of the present day. They would actually be able to do that fabled Perfect Shower of yore.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky said slowly, after rinsing and turning the shower off a few minutes later. “D’you think…we could actually find that waterfall now?”

Steve said nothing at first, looking off contemplatively for a few moments before wordlessly drawing Bucky into his arms. They just stood there and held each other for a while before Steve asked, “the one I thought you’d found that night, or the one you actually found?”

“Yes.”

**6)**

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes having a stable place to live with Real Heat and Actual Pluming practically felt like karmic balancing. For a while, they’d been hesitant about slamming their old place in Brooklyn because it’d been all they had; so full of memories and precious time they’d spent together before it all went horribly wrong. But now they were finally in a place where they could comfortably say, “yeah, but we have something _so much better_ now!” And now Bucky was about to make it a few notches ever better. Steve had been away in D.C. for a few days and Bucky had taken advantage of his absence to call in a contractor to make some…upgrades to their bathroom.

Things got off to a fun start when Bucky welcomed Steve home not by greeting him at the door, but by posing on the bed and “wearing” nothing but a bottle of the Woodlands soap in front of his junk. Steve stopped dead in the entrance to the bedroom and accidentally treated Bucky to the hitherto unknown phenomenon of a simultaneous snort of laughter and the first bulge of a boner. From Bucky’s angle, it almost looked like some of the suppressed air from Steve’s mouth had gone straight to his crotch.

“Well then,” Bucky began, raising a single sultry eyebrow, “looks like someone could use a cold shower after his long travels.”

“That I might, Buck, that I might,” said Steve, putting his bag down and shuffling his jacket off. Bucky rose from the bed and got behind Steve, hands already going to work getting the rest of his clothes off. “You weren’t waiting to shower this whole time until I got back, were you?”

“You mean, was I getting dirty just to get clean while we got dirty?” Bucky hummed against Steve’s neck as soon as his shirt was out of the way. He gave Steve’s neck a fond, slow lick, teasing briefly at the edges of he latest wave of stubble. “Wait, wow, that was not one of my better lines.”

“I dunno,” said Steve, starting to relinquish control of his undressing to Bucky’s adept fingers as his pants were unzipped. “I thought it worked.”

“Oh hush, Rogers, you’re just saying that to be nice,” Bucky retorted, not bothering to hide his appreciation after all as he grinned into Steve’s neck and punctuated the _nice_ with a hand down the front of Steve’s underpants and a fond squeeze at the base of his thickening shaft.

“What,” said Steve, reaching a hand back and reciprocating with a squeeze on Bucky’s right buttock, “am I not allowed to say nice things to my best fella?”

“Mmm, I dunno, I think you can do better,” Bucky purred as Steve’s last article of clothing finally fell to the floor. “And speaking of better, c’mere, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Bucky moved his hands to Steve’s arms and steered him out of the bedroom.

“I hope it’s a good surprise,” Steve muttered apprehensively when he realized that Bucky’s surprise was in the bathroom. There weren’t any weird smells coming from it, which was a good start. Bucky reached over and opened the door, turning on the lights to reveal…

It didn’t really look different until Steve focused on the bathtub. The back end had been slanted upwards, curving and sloping like a recliner. The headrest was flanked by small fountain strips, and there was now a small control panel on the tub’s side.

“Well?” said Bucky, presenting the upgrade with a pleased grin. “Nice to finally have that dream shower we were talking about? Oh wait, one more thing.” He went over to pick up what looked like a ragged green towel and clipped it to the headrest. “Feel it.”

Steve came over and ran his hand along the green fuzz. It felt slicker than he expected, and yet almost…sponge-y? “Is this synthetic bathroom moss?”

Bucky nodded triumphantly. “You betcha! And I lied, there actually is more where that came from. But you’ll probably appreciate them more once we’re actually giving our new luxury pad her maiden voyage.”

Steve returned Bucky’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?” He held out his hand and Bucky took it, somehow grinning even more widely as he reached down to press a button on the control panel. The showerhead sprang to life, managing the fastest leap to ideal temperature either of them had ever seen in a shower.

“Steve Rogers, will you join me for some clean dirtiness?” said Bucky, stepping under the water. Steve eagerly followed and Bucky maneuvered him to lie back on the new tub recliner. A few more presses of the button later and the fountain at the headrest bubbled forth, wetting the faux moss and making it ideal cushioning against Steve’s skin. A light hissing sound followed a moment later and the tub began to flow with steam. Scented steam.

“You didn’t.”

“I call it _eau de arbre_ ,” said Bucky, breathing in the sweet evergreen aroma of wood and flora.

Steve laughed. “Sweet Jesus, Buck. Any other surprises? Or did you—”

“Just one more.” Bucky lowered himself over Steve and reached his hand under a small spigot against the wall. A big dollop of cream squeezed out.

“Soap dispenser?”

“Lube dispenser. But yeah, we’ve got the other thing too if we _really_ need it, I guess.” Bucky reached down between Steve’s legs and started preparing him, while Steve settled back and closed his eyes. He’d never had this many amazing aids to that woodland fantasy done right, and part of him felt like that beautiful odd subconscious quest had reached a great conclusion. Yes, he could think of even more ways to improve it, but did he really want to at this point? He and Bucky had each other, they had their dream shower, they had good memories again, and they had all the time in the world. Bucky leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “You ready for the rest of me, babe?”

“I feel like I’ve waited for this edition for years,” Steve breathed softly, water playing across his shoulders. “Come on in.”

Bucky pressed into him and started massaging their lower regions together lightly. Given the firmer background they were working with, grinding Steve’s hips into the porcelain was not the best idea. But with the surrounding water and all the different forms of wetness—the showerhead, the back fountain, the lubricant helping them pulse into each other, the salty perspiration that beaded on their skin and then was swept away by the cleaning cascade—just the lighter sensation of their physical intimacy was pleasure enough. Bucky probably didn’t even need to be inside Steve; there was plenty wet cocooning around them already, gently melting them into each other. It was perhaps thanks to this extra help that Bucky came first, quivering greatly and flopping down on Steve’s slick chest a bit harder than he’d intended. He wordlessly reached his hand down in apology to give Steve a few more firm, warm strokes beneath him to help bring him off.

“He came, he saw, he came again,” Bucky murmured languidly into Steve’s neck. This time, Steve decided to properly flick Bucky in the forehead with a wet finger. He giggled. “Welcome home, Stevie.”

Steve put his arms around Bucky and held him close, as they made a silent promise to never let fate slip them away from each other ever again. “Welcome home, Buck.”

**End**


End file.
